


rockabilly wild

by teethingmaw



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Character Study, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Friendship, Introspection, Post-Game(s), fuck buddies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-06
Updated: 2019-05-04
Packaged: 2020-01-05 23:20:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18376154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teethingmaw/pseuds/teethingmaw
Summary: Lady enjoys confident people; being around the likes of Dante and Trish all day has a way of shaping tastes whether one wants it or not.





	1. Chapter One

                The first thing she feels when she wakes is the chill nipping at her shins. The second thing is sharp smell of cigarettes and gun oil in her nose.  

                “’Bout time…” comes the murmur, from a voice that’s vaguely familiar; husky and feminine. A curving, drawling accent. It’s friendly, and so Lady doesn’t try to surge upward in defense. “Wasn’t sure what was gonna happen if you ended up comatose.”

                Groaning, Lady shifts onto her side. She feels the rough, cheap material of a sheet against her naked skin and the sticky squeak of leather upholstery at her back. Slowly, she opens her eyes and all she sees is a blur of colour, a kaleidoscope of clashing palettes, harsh enough to nearly give her a headache.

                It feels like coming out the deepest sleep she’s ever had. Did she die? It feels like it.  

                “- because you know, I got a lot of stuff in here,” continues the voice. “But I can’t say I’d be too good at being a portable hospital. And I need the space. That’s my thinkin’ seat, you know, where all the magic starts.”

                The sights around her start to sharpen, coalescing into a strange, wild tableau of old things; old cups, figurines, and machine parts. A jukebox. A street sign. Magazines upon magazines. A skull.

                Pure chaos. Lady is nearly dizzy at the sight of it.

                She squirms, stretching out her stiff limbs, and the shape of a woman forms in front of her like wildness incarnate, kneeling at her side. She looks familiar, just enough to tickle her memory. Something in the accent, the tattoos –

                “Nicoletta,” Lady mutters, mouth working faster than her brain. Her tongue feels limp behind her teeth; her whole body feels weak with disuse.  

                “Nico now, actually,” Nico tuts, chewing the inside of her cheek. Her lips shine with gloss, and Lady’s straining eyes follow them as they shape her words. “An artisan’s gotta have a moniker.”

                “Huh,” says Lady. “…it suits you.”

                Nico smiles, eyes alight with pride.

                It starts coming to her, in a barrage of memories: the fight with the big demon on the throne, and then being thrown to the ground. Dante grunting in exertion as he takes over the fight. Then, nothing but darkness, as though she’d only been sleeping. Awareness – distant, fleeting – had crept in through the blackness from time to time; she remembers far away sounds, like screaming. And singing. Wind, and flying through air. Fighting.

                Nero’s voice.

                “How long…?” she starts.

                “A month,” says Nico, watching her face. Her mouth twists into a wry slant of sympathy. “Figured you were dead, to be honest.”

                She pauses, then adds: “Kind of surprised you _aren’t_. That big demon lady feed you anything in there? Or were you like…a big ol’ battery?”

                “In…?”

                “ _In_. Y’know, _inside_ her.”

                That makes sense. Lady breathes out, a fluttery sigh of exhaustion. She’s sure she’s never been this tired before.

                “Can’t say,” she says, closing her eyes. “Felt like I was…sleeping.”

                “Well,” Nico’s voice is so clear, the clearest thing she’s heard in a while. Lady rides the sound like the crest of a strong wave. “That’s somethin’, I guess. Keep sleeping, then. I’ll wake you in a bit.”

*

                Lady gives her a look.

                “Got a problem?” Nico smiles, dimples deep on her cheeks.

                “Of all the junk you’ve got in this van,” Lady gestures around. “This is _seriously_ the only thing you could find for me to wear?”

                “You could always go back to being naked,” quips Nico, crossing her arms. After a beat, she finally adds: “Look, nothing I got is gonna fit you and I’m not into stretching out my shit, you feel me?”

                “What’re you even saying?”

                Nico turns, and gives her own ass a slap. Lady rolls her eyes.  

                “I guess I should be flattered,” she says. She clamps down on the urge to smile.

                “Flattered, schmattered. I’m just about the truth, sugar. You got a big ass and I got nothing to put it in.”

                Lady sighs.

                “Also,” Nico picks up her shovel, which she’d placed on the table while Lady changed. “ _None_ of my stuff is ‘junk’. An artist’s tools –”

                “Yeah, yeah,” Lady circles around her, heading to the door. The shoes are also on loan, and they’re about a half size too big, clapping awkwardly at her heels. “I get it.”

                It chafes a little bit, to hang back and be digging ditches while Nero is out there being a hero. Even _V_ is fighting, and she’s sure that guy would tip over at a stiff breeze. But she knows if she goes into the field now she’ll be put down in a second; her body is still too weak, weak enough that carrying Kalina Ann might actually be a struggle, now.

                And she must admit – it’s a relief getting to be out in the fresh air after so long. She doesn’t remember much about being trapped inside Artemis, but she’s missed the sensation of sunlight on her skin.

                Nico’s steps are heavy behind her, the stride of a woman who never has cause to be quiet. It’s kind of nice being around it; she is so used to Trish’s inhuman silence, and even Dante doesn’t make noise if he doesn’t _feel_ like it – though he usually does.

                “ _Woo-ee_ ,” Nico chirps. “We got our work cut out for us. Hope you’re not still too sleepy to be useful.”

                Lady rolls her eyes. “You know how much Kalina Ann weighs. You sure _you_ won’t be the one falling behind? Those tools back there don’t look all that heavy, you know.”

                “Call me when you’ve got to hold a 50 pound horn steady with one hand while you solder off the edges with the other hand while _also_ making sure the whole thing doesn’t react with the cleaning agent and combusting in your face,” Nico says, though not truly offended. She’s someone who knows her worth and Lady appreciates that.

                Lady enjoys confident people; being around the likes of Dante and Trish all day has a way of shaping tastes whether one wants it or not.  

                “All right then,” she says lightly, throwing a smile behind her back and winking. “Let’s see those _artisan’s arms_ at work, huh?”

*

                A lot can happen in a day. Now that they have a moment to stop and breathe, watching the Qliphoth crumble and fall, she can think about her next steps.

                She doesn’t know where Nero is – most likely checking the surrounding areas. She imagines he must need a few moments alone to process everything: finding out about his father, _fighting_ his father, and then losing both him and his uncle all the in span of a few hours.

                Lady wouldn’t blame him for needing to take out some of his emotions on a few stray demons. For weeks, after everything that happened on the Temen-ni-gru, Lady had fought until her body nearly fell apart just to settle the roaring in her head.

                The van is a quiet little haven, a space far away from everything else, it feels like. The tumbling of the Qliphoth outside seems more distant than it really is, when she is in here. Nico fusses with one of her spare devil breakers, a fresh cigarette tucked in her mouth.  

                “What’re you going to do now?” Lady asks. Who knows when they’ll see each other again? Not that she’s attached, but in this line of work the circle of familiar faces always gets smaller and smaller as the years go by. With Dante gone, she’s wondering who she’ll be missing next.

                “On a lil adventure,” Nico chirps. Her eyes don’t leave the metal in her hands. “There’s going to be a lot of demon carcasses lying around now. Maybe some live stragglers. I got to get in there before grifters come in and nick the good stuff.”

                Lady hums.

                She glances out the window of the van, where Trish stands on a cliff edge and looks out into the distance. The breeze makes her golden hair billow at her back; she looks like a tall, ethereal statue watching over the world. Lady leaves her to it, knowing that Trish is probably taking the moment to breathe, herself.

                Maybe even mourn.

                With Dante, one never knows. He might be back soon enough, or he might not. His path was never all that clear to her, or to any of them. Not like her own – she’s going to go down fighting one day, and Dante? Dante might just live forever.   

                Turning back to Nico, she asks, “Want company?”

                “Huh?” Nico blinks and finally glances up, eyes wide behind her glasses. “You’re not going back to the business?”

                “Not right away,” she says. “I’ve been sleeping for a month, and I barely even got any action this time…”

                She gestures at Nico. “…and _you_ could use someone to watch your back while you do your stuff.”

                Really, Lady thinks she just wants some space from this whole thing. Get some time on her own, and maybe feel like she’s still _got it_. She hasn’t needed to be saved in a long time, and while she’s grateful, Nero’s rescue still stings a little at her pride.   

                Slowly, Nico grins.

                “Oh, hell yes.”


	2. Chapter Two

            Lady enjoys Nico’s jukebox.

            When it plays, the van feels like it is locked in time and space; a pocket of rhythm and calm tucked away from all the chaos of the world. The music is turned down low, quiet enough so that they can hear if something starts creeping around outside. Lady leans against the glass and watches the record spin as Nico fusses with something behind her workbench a couple of paces away. Today had been long, and there had been some close calls with the batch of demons they found. Lady has a fresh bandage on her thigh because of one that almost got lucky.

            That hasn’t happened in a while. Nowadays, she’s beginning to feel her age; she’s getting slower and her body hangs onto its aches a lot longer than she’d like. It’s only just gotten dark outside, and she is already wondering if she should be getting some sleep.

            The adrenaline still sings inside her though, so she doesn’t; she listens to Nico’s music instead. She hums along and sways, feeling the blood race inside her own veins, head hazy with that irreplaceable feeling after a good fight.  

            Lady loves this life. She’s not quite ready to quit, not just yet.

            “ _Oh baby_ ,” Nico purrs from behind the table. “This fucking _haul_.”

            “I hope you’re not doing anything indecent back there,” Lady says, shutting her eyes. The glass case of the jukebox rumbles under her arm.

            “Considering it,” Nico quips. “Oof, you know something? I’m _glad_ you came along. I might never have gotten my hands on these babies if you weren’t there blasting them all back to hell.”

            Lady laughs, a soft little huff. “You’re welcome.”

            Eventually, Nico stops taking inventory of her new selection and comes back to the front of the van. She drops heavily onto the driver’s seat, sighing in bliss.

            “Good day?” Lady asks.

            “Good fucking day.”

            Leaving the jukebox to do its thing, Lady comes up to join her.

            “Think it’s time we made tracks,” Nico says, turning on the ignition. The van rumbles to life, and Nico pulls them out of the alley they’d been parked in and onto the street. There’s none of that rushed mania in her driving now that they can go at their own pace, and so Lady pokes at one of the dangling green dice hanging on the rearview mirror before leaning back to relax against the passenger seat. She watches it sway and breathes in a deeply needed breath. 

            It’s been a week since the business with the Qliphoth ended. A week since she and Nico set off to clean up the city and take out the stragglers. Finally, she’s getting to come down from the high.

            It’s one of the less desirable parts of this life – the anxiousness, the baggage. The constant feeling of being on edge for days after a close call, the ones where one slip and the world as they knew it would’ve crumbled beneath their feet.  

            Some nights, Lady dreams that she’s still trapped inside of Artemis, hearing screams past the trill of demonic singing. She always wakes on Nico’s chair, staring up at the charms dangling from the van’s ceiling, gleaming in the morning sunlight. Nico is an early riser, and the sounds of her working or rummaging outside of the van always brings with it a blissful calm, a reminder that she has survived again.

            How many apocalypses does she have under her belt now? Who even knows? But she’s looking forward to the next one, scars and bad dreams be damned.   

            She glances over at Nico, where she is flicking open her zippo to light the cigarette poking from her mouth. They’ve probably got about another week together before Lady intends to get back to the shop; she misses Trish, and the two of them must think about what to do with the place now that Dante is away.

            “What are your plans, after all this?” Lady finds herself asking, waving her hand at the streets of Red Grave, passing through the window.

            “Don’t really know,” Nico says, lips tight around her smoke. “Think I might head back to Fortuna for a bit, see how the barely-but-should-be-weds are keepin’ on.”

            “Come to think of it,” Lady drawls. “Do you actually _live_ anywhere?”

            Nico grins, big and bright.

            “I live on the _road_ ,” she says, dragging the word out like some crooning country singer. Lady laughs at its sound, at the jolly expression on the woman’s face.

            “So you bum off them, then,” Lady retorts.

            “Oh yeah.”

            Shaking her head, Lady pokes at the green dice again, moving in her seat to the music.

            She’s only met Kyrie a handful of times. Lady recalls a sweet-faced girl with a gentle demeanor, a bird-like voice, and hands that looked softer than silk; Nero really was batting out of his league with that one and really, she’s proud of him for it. Now that their suspicions have been confirmed – that Vergil really is his father – she finds herself rooting for his happiness.

            Nero is a good kid, and he deserves it.

            “You’re lucky they’re such nice people,” Lady says.

            Nico laughs, holding her cigarette between her fingers. There’s a slick ring of gloss on the filter, and a long column of ash hanging on for dear life at the end of it.

            “Considerin’ they came from that messed up cult, yeah,” Nico says. Then her smile falls a little bit as a memory settles itself into the lines of her face. “With people like my jerkass daddy around, it’s a wonder they managed to come out of it like they did.”

            Lady had been there, during the mess in Fortuna. She’s knows the story, in bits and pieces, of Nico and her father. She relates to it all too well.

            The ash drops from the flaming tip of Nico’s cigarette, crumbling to the van’s floor.

            “I think the same can be said for most of us,” Lady says, eventually. There are many, many ways for most of them to have gone bad. In the end, none of them did, and thank God for small blessings – or something. “Vergil being Nero’s father isn’t a win, either.”

            Not that he’s as bad as her own; Lady thinks she’s got most people beat on that one. Even Nico, though she keeps her thoughts to herself. It’s not the kind of competition one should be proud of coming on top in.

            “Yeah, well,” Nico shrugs. “We’re supposed to end up better than our dads. It’s like a rule, or somethin’…”

            Then, she adds: “Vergil ain’t dead, though. I think that disqualifies Nero from…whatever it is that we all make together.”

            “A club?” Lady snorts. “Group counselling?”

            Nico laughs.

            “ _Is_ this some sort of club, now?” she mutters. “Dead Daddys Club?”

            She pauses, tapping her fingernail on the wheel, the one with the smudged little skull. “…Perished Pops Posse?”

            Lady chuckles, eyes moving to the window and watching the blur of the ruined buildings streaming past. It’ll be a while before the streets stop being so empty, maybe longer before they stop smelling like blood. She wonders if people will even want to come back to Red Grave, after all of this. Fortuna is a shell of what it used to be, and it didn’t even used to be _much_.

            “It may as well be,” she says. “Dante’s in there, too. I guess Trish and Nero are the odd ones out.”

            “Does Trish even _have_ a daddy?”

            “…You know, I’m not sure.”

            She knows the basic picture of Trish’s life, and how she and Dante came to work together. She never asked much beyond that, just as Trish never pried too far into Lady’s story. What they know of Dante is similarly brief – just enough, and not more than that. The three of them never needed to be tied together by more than the circumstances of the present.

            Even with everything she and Dante went through together in the Temen-ni-gru, all that history between them – they don’t talk about it. They don’t need to. Dante gets her more than anyone else on this Earth.

            She’s not sure the same is true for him, but that’s fine. Devils can be inscrutable like that.  

            The jukebox stops behind them, coming to the end of the record.

            They pass by a street littered with empty shoes where people used to be, before they got turned into bloodless husks. Maybe it’s the sight of them that makes her ask:

            “You ever wish you’d done it yourself?” she glances over at Nico’s side. “Killed him, I mean.”

            Anyone else and that’d be too much. But when it comes to their type – the kind of people that spend their whole lives chasing demons – there’s very little that’d be too much. No one who came into this line of work came from a functional, happy family.

            Nico makes a small sound of consideration, a hum that dances in her throat for a few beats.

            “I used to dream about it,” she says, eventually. “After it happened. In some of them, I’d be the one that done it.”

            “Yeah?”

            “Didn’t feel much about it,” Nico sucks her teeth. “Still don’t. Me, or someone else…I guess it doesn’t matter as much as the fact that he’s fucking gone.”

            Lady doesn’t know what to say to that. She sees the way Nico swallows as she talks and thinks there’s a lot more to it than just that. And she gets it, enough to not push.

            “Why?” Nico asks, before gentling her voice. “You…think about _not_ being the one to do it?”

            The question snares her attention away from the window. Lady looks at her hands, the lines in her skin, shades lighter than her father’s had been; she’d inherited her colouring from her mother, but Arkham could be found in her features – the same nose, the tilt of their eyes. He was in her blood and some days, she thinks about how that means he’s not truly gone at all.

            She hadn’t been lying to Nero, about killing a parent – it’s a painful thing, something that she carries with her always. But would she have left it to someone else?

            Her hands clench into fists.

            No. No, she wouldn’t have.

            Next to her, Nico nods in understanding. She turns on the radio and they don’t talk much for the rest of the ride.


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> flirting

            It’s one of the quieter nights, with no demons in sight. It looks like they’re starting to make hard progress on clearing out the city, and Nico’s van is nearly stuffed with all the pieces they find from it.

            When there’s little to do, they spend the time sitting in the front seat and talking. The jukebox, turned down low, plays something jazzy that Lady finds she really likes. Talking with Nico is enjoyable, more than she ever would have expected. They’ve traded stories about old jobs, mutual acquaintances, and even argued about what made for good pizza toppings.

            Tonight, they end up talking about girls.

            “Oh yeah?” Lady smirks, setting aside her empty can of peaches. They’re going to have to stock up on food supplies tomorrow. “Then, what _is_ your type?”

            Nico hums, pursing her mouth in thought. She takes the moment to light up a cigarette and her answer comes with a cloud of grey smoke: “I like the good girls.”

            Lady chuckles, says, “I wouldn’t have expected that.”

            Nico waves her hand and tips her head, as though bowing. “I aim to defy expectations. And such and such.”

            “Now I think I’m starting to get it,” Lady murmurs. At Nico’s questioning glance, she smirks. “Why you pick on Nero so much.”

            Shrugging, Nico says, “If Kyrie ever wants to stop playing around with the boys, she knows who to call.”

            They both know that Kyrie and Nero are well on their way to marriage, bonded for life like lovebirds. Lady doesn’t sense any real wounds in the other woman’s words, though, so she teases her.

            “You might be waiting a _long_ time,” she says. “I think the only reason Nero hasn’t given her a ring yet is because he’s too broke.”

            Nico sighs dramatically. “And here I am, making _so_ much money. Some girls just don’t have sense,” then she laughs. “Oh well, oh well.”

            She turns, raising a brow and taking a puff. The soft light in the van curves over shoulder, it makes the ink in her skin shine; for someone who works with such volatile materials all day, she has pretty skin. “What about you, miss Lady? What’s _your_ type?”

            She gestures to Lady, with the hand holding the cigarette delicately between her fingers; like some kind of dandy or a charming, tattooed vagabond. A chaotic and indefinable mix of both, maybe.  

            Lady thinks about it, eyes roving over her as she does. What _is_ her type? She’s never really given it any thought. Over the years she’s been with all kinds of people and enjoyed their company in all kinds of ways. But she supposes, if she really thought about it, that the common denominator was confidence. She loved confident people, people who knew their worth and the worth of their time and attention.

            And she frequently worked alongside some of the most confident people on earth. It was only natural.

            Lady grins, and Nico perks up.

            “Trish,” says Lady. Easy.

            “Oh yeah?”

            “Yeah,” she leans back in her seat.

            She and Trish have fun, sometimes. It’s never anything serious – a way for two riled up devil hunters to blow off steam. Lady isn’t sure that true romance is ever going to have a place in her life, because it certainly doesn’t for most people she knows. Nero and Kyrie are outliers in so many ways, and sometimes Lady wonders if she should envy them and their easy relationship, the surety of their love. 

            Nico gets a dreamy look on her face, cigarette slackening in her fingers. “Ooh, _that’s_ a nice thought,” she drawls, smirking. “Very nice.”

            “I think so too,” Lady chirps, winking and leaning her chin on the palm of her hand.

            Nico snaps out of her imagination to give her a considering look.

            “Y’know, I always figured maybe you and Dante – ”

            “Oh _yikes_ ,” Lady wrinkles her nose. “Don’t even finish that thought.”

            “But he’s so _cool_ ,” Nico says, heated and eyes glittering with awe. She earnestly believes that, and Lady finds herself deciding between crushing her glowing idolism with _stories_ that could only come from knowing the man as well as she does, or keeping her mouth shut and letting her have this.

            “When I first met Dante,” says Lady. “He walked around shirtless in the cold and screamed rock anthems to _empty rooms_. I don’t think Dante is ever going to be ‘cool’ to me.”

            “Oh whatever, _I_ do that shit, too,” says Nico, tutting.

            “Well hey, you’re cute so I’ll let that pass,” Lady says, laughing.

            “Glad you noticed,” Nico puts out the cigarette on an ashtray precariously placed on the dash; one hard turn or fast stop and that thing will go flying, Lady finds herself thinking. It’s amazing that the van is in such a good state, considering how Nico drives it.

            Nico stands. “Want a drink?”

            “Sure.”

            Lady watches the empty street through the front window, admiring the way the moon makes the ruined concrete shimmer like lizard’s skin. The van is warm, and the sounds of clinking glass bottles behind her, backed by quiet jazz…moments like these have become comfortable and familiar, even in such a short time. She knows she’ll have to get back to work soon, back to her life where she has no roots, no place to call home – but she finds herself feeling like she’s going to miss this.

            Something cold and damp nudges her arm, and Lady takes the beer bottle with a nod of thanks.

            Hell, she’s already missing it and they haven’t even parted yet.   

            “Lookin’ a little thinky there,” says Nico. “Wanna share?”

            “Just thinking about how much I’ll miss this,” says Lady. No point in being anything but honest. “It almost makes me see the appeal in settling down and living a quiet life.”

            Almost.

            Nico snorts. “I can’t see that for you,” she punctuates it with a shake of her head, hair flying over her shoulders. “Like, at all.”

            “Me neither,” Lady says. “But sometimes a girl could use a little peace and quiet, you know. I’m not getting any younger.”

            “Well then, enjoy tonight’s peace and quiet,” Nico takes a sip. “And then get back to it come morning, like you always do.”

            Lady sets her beer down into the cup holder, chuckling. “You’ve got a vested interest in people like me ‘getting back to it’.”

            “Sure do,” Nico nods, reaching behind her to crank the seat back. She leans back with a luxuriant roll of her back and hips, and Lady admires the way her tattoo moves over the bumps of her ribs. “I’d be out of business if all you hunter types retired to become _normal_ people.”

            “Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that,” she says, thinking about all the calls she’s taken from Dante’s shop. And thinking about Dante himself, about Trish. Nero.

            They could all stop, if they wanted to – but the demons wouldn’t. And that wouldn’t do.

            “I don’t think any of us can go back to normal,” she continues. “This life has a way of hooking its claws into you…”

            “Hmm, don’t I know it,” says Nico, tapping her foot to the music. “I don’t know what I’d be up to if it weren’t this.”

            Lady shrugs, finding she can’t really imagine it either. Would Nico be a regular mechanic, giving people oil changes and tuning up some suburbanite’s SUVs? The thought seems impossible, so ill-fitting with the woman next to her.

            “Let’s say you stopped tomorrow,” says Nico, looking over at her and perking up. “What’d you think you would get up to?”

            “Me?” Lady laughs. “Oh God…”

            Lady has never been a modest person. She worked hard for her skills and knows how valuable they are on the market – it’s why she’s always had her pick of jobs. But even she can admit that outside of demon hunting, she doesn’t have much going on for herself. What _would_ she do? What _could_ she do?

            “Retire,” she says. “I don’t have much of a resume for anything else, I guess.”

            “Oh, what a boring answer,” Nico chides. “C’mon, think of something!”

            “I can’t!” Lady takes a sip of her beer, mouth pursed. “I’ve been in the game since I was a teenager – I really can’t do anything else.”

            “You could get into wrasslin’,” says Nico, leering. “Ooh, all drizzled in oil. Or mud.”

            Lady rolls her eyes. “Doesn’t sound very lucrative.”

            “Don’t pretend like you’re rolling in cash hunting demons,” Nico says. “I know the going rates for a standard job – it’s a rough business out there.”

            “Sure,” Lady also pushes her seat back, and finds herself taking stock of all the strange things Nico has stored on the van’s ceiling. “But if someone wants me to play around in _mud_ , I expect to be paid well for it.”

            “Ah, you fussy girls,” murmurs Nico, faux mournfully. “A little dirt never hurt anyone.”

            Lady smiles. The two of them keep drinking, watching the clouds float across the sky, and make a game of counting how many passes the moon before they head off to sleep.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short, i know - but next chapter is the Good Stuff ;P


End file.
